


Take what is yours

by RunningRedRiot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jealous Sansa Stark, Jealousy, Queen Daenerys, blame the Jonsa preview for this, lots of jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 23:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningRedRiot/pseuds/RunningRedRiot
Summary: Nobody steals from a wolf. Not even a dragon.





	Take what is yours

**Author's Note:**

> I have other stories I should be writing but that 3 second Got preview got my Jonsa heart jumping so I threw this together.

She is glad to see him.

 

Despite all of her anger and bitterness and pain, Sansa is nearly overwhelmed with relief when she sees Jon ride through the gates of Winterfell. He looks whole and unhurt. The northern cloak she had spent hours stitching hung heavy and secure atop his broad shoulders like a lover's embrace. The thought that he had kept it close to his heart while away in the south warmed her own. A secret part of her, hidden deep down, wondered if her father had done the same with the garments her mother had made him when he went off to war.

 

Then Jon looks at her and everything fades. His face is as haggard as a drowned man. His skin, a paler white than even his name could invoke. None of that mattered though. His eyes, a grey so deep she could lose herself in them, are buttery soft and hot as they take her in. As he dismounts from his horse and begins making his way to her, Sansa feels her righteous anger begin to ebb away. He has caused so much pain and turmoil in the North with his choices but Sansa simply can't help but feel a warmth she has not felt in ages flow through her.

 

Jon has come home to her.

 

The admonishment on her tongue dies as he reaches her with open arms. She takes him into her's and slides her chin onto his shoulder. Even through their heavy cloaks she can feel the heat of his body, like liquid fire that threatens to consume her into nothingness. 

 

Their moment lasts only seconds before _she_ comes. Still embracing Jon, Sansa watches as mounted knights and cavalry ride through the gates of her home in a royal procession. In the center of their formation rides a woman Sansa has never met but whom she has none the less come to loathe. 

 

Daenerys Targaryen. 

 

Jon begins to pull away and Sansa has no choice but to bring her arms back. She misses Jon's warmth almost immediately. "I have so much to tell you, Sansa," he speaks to her, his thick northern accent still alive even with his extended time away. 

 

"I'm sure you do," Sansa said, never taking her eyes off the approaching riders. As far as she was concerned, Daenerys Targaryen was a threat to the North on par with Cersei Lannister and the Army of the Dead. A conqueror concerned only with crushing the north beneath her boot. 

 

Jon goes to meet the riders as they reach the center of the coutryard. The foreign queen's horse is a majestic silver mare that likely cost more than a hundred smallfolk would see in their entire lives. Jon takes it's reigns as easily as a stable boy would. Sansa can feel her face flush when Jon extends his hand and helps the Mad King's daughter down from her steed and onto northern soil. As a pair the queen and warden turn and soon are upon her.

 

She is beautiful. This Sansa cannot deny. Her Silver hair is long and tucked into a thick war braid. Her face is heart shaped and rosy. Purple eyes that any man would die for sparkled like the sun. Certainly she was short, shorter even than Jon, but her waist was thin and her bosom ample. 

 

She was the kind of dragon seen only in a song. And Sansa had hated songs since the day her father had had his head chopped off. 

 

Jon's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "Sansa, I have the honor of presenting to you Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. The rightful queen of Westeros."

 

Daenerys' smile is curt and her movements stiff. " A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Sansa. Your brother has told me much about you."

 

Her returning smile is painful and false. "Hopefully only pleasant things, your grace."

 

The Dragon Queen's smile lifts slightly and she gives a giggle as smooth as silk. "Oh don't fear my lady. Your brother had only good things to say about you. He has quite the _articulate_ tongue once you get him going."

 

Jon's blush is like a slap to the face. A steady snowfall covers the courtyard in an embrace of cold kisses, but her blood is boiling hot. How dare this unwanted queen be so brazen in her own ancestral home. How dare she prance about as if they were already her subjects. And how _dare_ she boast of Jon as if he was her-

 

"We should continue this inside. A warm fire and some ale will do us good."

 

"Excellent suggestion, my Lord Snow. Lead the way."

 

Before Sansa could speak up, Daenerys takes hold of Jon's arm firmly and pulls him forward. She has no choice but to give way as the two pass her. Jon gives an apologetic nod but does not turn away from Daenerys' hold. 

 

Sansa had met many kinds of people in her time as a hostage in King's Landing. Daenerys Targaryen was like so many that had come before. She wanted that which she believed belonged to her under a grip so tight that none could escape. Jon included.

 

_We shall see about that, your grace._


End file.
